


Free At Last

by AsrielDreemurrIsBestCharacter



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blood, Goats, Headcanon, POV Second Person, Some Humor, Some characters only mentioned, Suicide, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsrielDreemurrIsBestCharacter/pseuds/AsrielDreemurrIsBestCharacter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Asriel released the souls, but before Frisk left the Underground?</p><p>What did Asriel do in that time?</p><p>What if Frisk made a choice...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free At Last

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS, OBVIOUSLY.
> 
> A break in the action is indicated with a larger-than-normal pause between paragraphs. In terms of formatting, I had a few issues because I transferred this document from google drive.
> 
> Very first fanfiction ever warning.
> 
> My own take on saving Asriel.
> 
> Big warning: If you are bothered by significant violence involving main characters, then I would stay away from this fanfic.
> 
> If you find any errors in terms of Undertale lore, then feel free to point them out.
> 
> The same goes for grammar, spelling, etc.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
> 
> Have a nice read :)

 

The two of you stood in the darkness. The barrier was destroyed, but here you stand, soulless and empty. You wait for Frisk to say something, but they don't. “Goodbye,” you say with a heavy heart.

You start to walk away, but In an awkward attempt to close the conversation, you speak.

"By the way...Frisk...take care of Mom and Dad for me, OK?” Your voice catches in your throat on the final word. You don't want to be alone again, but you know there is no point in fighting. What is done is done, and it cannot be changed.

They nod once, and you feel your sins lighten on your back. The day has been long, yet you feel a sense of accomplishment. Despite all of your wrongdoings, perhaps you have finally done something right.

 

You turn your head and walk away into the darkness, and feel that all is well. Everyone will go to the Surface, and they will be at peace, finally free.

Except for you. As you step through the bleak, swirling nothingness, you know that your parents will have a happy life as long as Frisk is there.

  
But that isn’t what you wanted, is it? It isn’t fair.

What you wanted…

A smile somehow finds its way onto your face for a brief moment. You hear the child shuffle behind you, but you do not look back. The darkness covers your sight.

 

You wake up almost immediately and find yourself in a bed of familiar golden flowers, from the Surface. You rub your hands over them, relishing their silky texture, and the feel against your fur. Chara’s favorite flowers. And also their tomb, you think with a shudder.

You realize that soon you'll never be able to experience this again, and you fight the urge to start bawling.

Chara was right. You really ARE a crybaby, aren't you? You push away the thought, because you have to be strong now.

But you can't muster the strength. You sit atop your bed of flowers for what seems like hours, before finally sitting up. Your unused legs cry out in protest, and you nearly fall.

You walk away from the flowers, and into a dark room illuminated by a single shaft of light from the surface. This is where you met Frisk for the first time. This is where you introduced them to your "friendliness pellets."

The thought causes you to sniffle, mostly out of nostalgia, somewhat out of disgust for what you did as Flowey.

The few steps you have taken are extremely tiring, and you find yourself overcome with fatigue, and a brief haze spreads over your eyes. You shake it off and continue onward.

Upon stumbling through the door into the next room, you find yourself in front of the archway which leads to the Ruins. One last walk couldn’t hurt, right?

The shadow of the Ruins looms above, filling you with a mixture of longing and wistfulness.

You know that your mother's house is in there somewhere.

 

You pay little mind to the numerous puzzles in your way. The pressure plate puzzle took just a few minutes, and someone even marked the correct switches in the next room. How nice of them.

You find yourself in a spacious cavern with a sign at its center. The ground looked a little off, but you paid no mind to it.

This “puzzle” was simple! With a triumphant stride, you walk into the room…

And promptly fall down the hole which opened beneath your feet, skinning your knee quite badly. Pain wasn’t exactly something you were accustomed to, and the sudden sting caught you off guard.

But you don't cry. You're a big kid now, and only babies cry. You wipe your watering eyes with a swipe of the paw, standing up simultaneously. The scratchy, orange leaves below you rustle.

“Huh,” you muse aloud.

There is a sign which firmly dictates: “Please don’t step on the leaves.”

Chuckling to yourself, you climb back up the stairs. This time you do it correctly.

The rest of the Ruins flashed by in a blur. You can't stop thinking about your mother and father. They are probably on the surface by now, with Frisk.

Frisk...Why did they have to get the happy ending? They'll surely live with your parents, where you should be.

So what is Frisk? A replacement? Despicable. But you can't stay mad at them. Why, if not for them you'd still be a flower right now. But your parents...

Toriel and Asgore have left you to rot down here. If only they had watched more closely all those years ago! Perhaps they could have discovered Chara’s plan, and saved them too.

But was it their fault? You're the one who picked the buttercups, you're the one who gave them to Chara. That still doesn't excuse their negligence.

Yet if you hadn't given in to Chara’s manipulative personality, you would have had the same outcome.

Deep in thought, you walk into a tree, promptly falling on your rear into a pile of the selfsame orange leaves from earlier.

You wish to scream out of frustration, but before you can, you notice a house in the distance. The sight of it immediately invokes thoughts of warm pie, love, and family.

It is your first home. That is, where you lived before your parents went to New Home. Breaking into a run, you sprint to the door.

Locked. You won’t be stopped now, though. After ramming your shoulder into the weak frame with all your might, the old hinges finally break. The door falls into the living room, and you go with it.

Breathless and bruised, a trickle of blood seeps out of your nose. And to top it all off, you now have a headache.

Painfully, slowly, you bring yourself to a stand. Although it isn't New Home, it is definitely your old home. To the left is the living room. Entering it, you see the fireplace in the center of the room, a table and a large chair next to it. A cheery remnant of flame dances sluggishly at the hearth.

You grip a log and toss it onto the fire, lighting it with your magic. The remaining flames merge with the new ones and begin to devour it greedily.

“Devour…” you mutter.

And at that precise moment, you find yourself unbelievably, acutely ravenous. Rushing into the kitchen adjacent to the living room, you search for anything with even a slight resemblance to food.

And then you see it. The refrigerator. Your salvation.

Roughly, you open the door and thrust your head inside.

No. It cannot be true. Sitting upon the middle rack in the fridge is a pie with one slice out of it. Just from looking at it, you know that it is the exact same pie which your mother constantly bakes. Butterscotch-cinnamon. It was the perfect recompense whenever you were feeling sad, or someone bullied you, or…

And it is exactly what you need. Right. Now. You fiercely rip the pastry from its moorings and slam it upon the nearby counter, causing it to nearly bounce off and splatter all over the floor. Contemplating cutting it, or even warming it, you decide that there is no time for such pleasantries. Toriel always hides the knives anyway.

You rend it with your bare hands, and pull out a mostly-shipwrecked blob of cold pie, violently shoving it into your mouth. The sweet, frigid taste of it is exactly as you remember, and the last of your weariness melts away.

Staring at the laceration in the pie, you finally give up. The tears flow freely down your cheeks as you continue feasting.

You cry for family.

You cry for Frisk.

You cry for the unfairness of existence.

You cry for your mother’s good cooking.

 

 

You finish your pitiful meal. The pie tin lies sad and broken; every single crumb has been cleanly consumed. A sliver of guilt finds its way into your heart.

What if she was saving it? Why, you evil pie-eater. But that doesn't matter, does it? You will never see her again, right? The thought wiped away the guilt.

You grip the savaged pie tin and toss it nonchalantly into the once-immaculate garbage can. It lands with a muffled little plop. You look into the refrigerator to see if anything edible remains.

Alas, your struggles are met with no reward. The chilled landscape of the fridge contains no more than a few containers of cheese, some snails, and what appears to be an ancient chocolate bar. You're not hungry anymore anyway.

Lethargically, you exit the kitchen and go back into the living room. Your mother’s chair sits by the magically-induced fire, whose flames still crackle with reckless abandon. You glance around the well-maintained room, warily.

The chair’s fabric is brown and cushy-looking. How inviting it seems. There is a small yellow cloth draped over the top, presumably to accommodate one’s furry head. You can practically smell Toriel all over it.

You take the offer and sit in it. The chair squishes underneath you, despite the fact that you don't even weigh that much. It absorbs you in its comfortable grip, and you find it difficult to get up. You settle for looking around the room instead.

On the opposite wall to the right of the fireplace is a bookshelf. Your eyesight is quite acute, and you read some of the titles. 72 Uses For Snails, proclaims one. Its spine is bent and cracked from use. Remedial Magic For the Mystically Challenged, asserts another. You wonder what Toriel used that book for. You can’t see much more of interest from your angle.

Directly adjacent to the bookshelf lies a wooden display of fireplace-maintenance tools, including an ash brush, a poker, and some other tool you can't quite make out. A thick layer of dust covers them. Mom probably just uses magic for that stuff.  
  


To your left is the table. It has three chairs next to it. Two large, one small. This is odd, because you and your father haven't been here for a long time. It seems that she has redecorated since then. Why not move the chairs?

Whatever. Maybe she just wanted to keep fond memories of you and Asgore. On top of the table lies a floral display. No golden ones, though you recall that Dad enjoyed filling New Home with them.

With tremendous effort, you gather your strength and manage to stand. You walk back into the hallway. The door lies in the center of the room, the hinges roughly snapped. You should probably fix that, but you don't.

In the hall, you come across more flower pots of a similar caliber to the one in the living room. Near the opposite wall is a closed room which is apparently undergoing renovations. You have no desire to break down any more doors, though. After walking all the way to the end, you glance at yourself in the mirror.

“It's me, Asriel,” you say with a smile. The smile shrivels up into a grimace when you look more closely.

You're a mess. There are pie crumbs, rips, and mud spots on your favorite sweater. A small splat of blood stains the collar, and your fur below it is clumpy and matted. Maybe you should have been more careful.

Disgusted by your appearance, you search the house for a way to clean yourself. Unfortunately, you cannot find a bath, a shower, or even a bathroom for that matter.

How does Mom do it? This is no way to live. Walking back into the living room, you settle for a washcloth and the kitchen sink. Oddly enough, there are already clumps of white fur in it.

Your fur is washed easily, but the sweater has seen better days. The collar is badly torn, and the bloodstain stubbornly refuses to clean up. It reminds you of Chara. The sweater, that is. You don't like to think about Chara's life on the Surface.

Unable to part with it, and for lack of other clothing, you retain the battered, damp sweater and head back into the living room, then down the hall again.

You find yourself in front of the first door in the hallway. This is the reason you came here in the first place anyway. With a deep breath, you reach for the door and gently push it open, revealing...A seemingly normal kid’s room.

Well what did you expect? Your old one? It has changed significantly since you lived here.

It does bear some resemblance though. The single bed in the room is positioned next to the right wall, where it always was. It seems that Toriel has been busy since you were last here. There is a cubby on the left containing children's shoes, and there seems to be about five or six pairs. Directly in front of the bed is a toy chest, but nothing in there really catches your attention though.

There is a lamp next to the far left wall, and it's twin lies between the bed and the right wall. Such an amount of illumination seems unnecessary, but you think nothing of it.

The lamp on the left is still on. You walk over and gingerly pull the cord, plunging the room into darkness. But it's a pleasant darkness, you assure yourself.

You walk over to the bed on impulse. And then you decide to sit on the side of it and lie down, despite your damp clothing. Upon pulling the red, striped blankets up to your chin, you take your first (and most likely final) rest since your death.

 

Upon opening your eyes, you are met with darkness. It takes a moment to register where you are, and then it all comes back.

With a yawn, you pull the sheets back and raise your arms above your head, stretching. You fumble for the lamp in the dark, and your groping hand closes on the cord. You jerk it down, and the room is filled with light once again.

Too bright! You shield your eyes in a futile manner, waiting for them to adjust. Burying your face in the white pillow, you see a few strands of brown hair. Evidently, Toriel hadn't washed the bed since Frisk’s visit. You take one, running it back and forth in your fingers.

You set it back down on the pillow.

In a morose manner, you realize that you are spending too much time here. Shortly, you will turn back into Flowey. But you still have something to do. Briskly, you run back into the hallway and go to Toriel’s door.

You consider respecting her privacy, but you ignore the thought. You can’t contain your curiosity.

“Sorry Mom,” you say under your breath.

You push the door open.

Unlike the room next to it, the bed is on the left side in your mother’s room. It is considerably larger than the child’s bed also. On your left, in front of the bed, is a desk. On top of it lies a journal of some kind.

Despite the childhood teachings Toriel has given you about diaries and journals, you read it anyway. Glancing at one of the passages, you notice that almost all of the entries are about puns.

Skeleton puns, of all the topics. You question Toriel’s taste in humor for a moment, then you sit down in the nearby chair and read.

“The skeletal comedian was quite humerus,” said one. It was quite possibly the worst joke you have ever been exposed to, but you had to clamp both paws over your mouth to silence the laughter boiling up your throat. Not like anyone would hear you, that is.

“After all, I’m all a-BONE,” you said to yourself. And with that, you lost it. In spite of your bleak future, you allowed yourself to have a laugh. It went on continuously for about a minute, almost until you couldn't breathe. Finally, you stopped, taking a moment to dry your eyes with the collar of your sweater. Maybe reading this journal isn't the best course of action.

You don't think you have much time left. Prying your eyes away from the compendium of comedy on the desk, your eyes settle on Toriel’s dresser. She always had fabulous fashion sense.

You walk over to the dresser, and grip the top drawer with both paws. It slides open readily, and inside you see nothing but socks. Piles of socks in a multitude of colors. Which is rather odd, because you don't recall seeing Mom ever wearing socks. In fact, you don't recall anyone in your family ever wearing any manner of foot covering.

You close the drawer and open the bottom one. It seems that there isn't much to see here, other than numerous assorted gowns, dresses, and blouses. You move them all aside, and on the bottom you see something you recognize.

With shaking hands, you pull out a sweater. The exact twin of yours, even. Toriel must have kept it after Chara’s death. You hold it against your chest for a moment, and then take off the one you are wearing and replace it with the other.

The yellow-and-green sweater fits you perfectly. Of course it does, for you and Chara were the same size. In the dresser, you find more familiar articles.

A pair of blue jeans your mother wanted to wear many years ago. You refused, because you thought black looked cooler.

A shirt with a picture of you and your parents captioned The Dreemurr Family. You can't believe she actually expected you to put that on. Toriel and Asgore look so young in that picture, you think. But that is strange, for they shouldn't be able to age without you around.

And there, at the very bottom, is a small, gold locket shaped like a heart. You open it up to see a small message saying: Best Friends Forever. This was Chara’s locket, you knew. It's counterpart was probably back in New Home. For lack of anywhere to put it, you slip it over your head. You don't know where it will go when you turn back into Flowey, but that doesn't matter to you anymore.

It's time to go.

You pick up your old, soiled sweater and drape it over the chair near the desk, bidding it a silent goodbye. Your paw lingers on the fabric for a moment, but you pull it away.

You're shaking again. You cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to stop, but it doesn't help much. Returning to the hallway, you go back to the mirror.

You look much better now, aside from your haunted-looking face and violently chattering teeth. Chara's sweater has been kept immaculate after all these years. You remind yourself not to get it dirty. Especially not with blood. You have no desire to clean up bloodstains again.

Next to the mirror is the room which you saw earlier. It would have been Asgore’s room in New Home, but you doubt there is much in there here. You don’t want to see it anyway.

And then you find yourself thinking about your childhood again. Asgore, with his kind yet firm demeanor, and--

You punch the wall fiercely with your left paw, in order to bring yourself back to reality. It is successful, and the instant pain in your hand clears your mind.

“I have to go now,” you say through gritted teeth.

Cradling your injured hand in the other, you begin the journey back. After exiting your mother’s home, the Ruins are easily traversed. You didn't stop once.

Eventually, you find yourself back where you started, next to the patch of golden flowers. You kneel down next to them, resigned to your fate.

Beside the flowers, lit by a single circle of light from above, you wait for the end.

After about thirty minutes, (by your count, that is) you hear footsteps behind you. You don't even have to turn around to know who it is. You have so much to say to them, but there is so little time.

In fact, you can already feel your once-strong limbs weakening and stiffening, as if preparing to turn back into a plant. But you maintain your outward kindness towards them anyway.

Turning towards Frisk, you say “Don't worry about me. Someone has to--”

They interrupt you with a shushing gesture. The look on their face says that they have heard this all before.

And then it hits you. You feel incredibly stupid for not realizing it sooner, because you too had this power once.

“How many?” You question them.

How awful it must have been for them, coming back again and again...Trying, without success, to save you. Standing up, you ask again.

“How many resets?!” You are almost yelling in their face now, all pretense of kindness gone.

They stand there with a mildly troubled expression on their face. That look just makes you even more angry.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” You say in a spiteful manner. Okay, maybe that was a bit mean. You open your mouth to apologize, but before you can, they finally speak.

“No,” they say, their voice low and hoarse from lack of use.

You close your gaping mouth mostly out of surprise. You didn't expect a reply.

“Why are you still here?” You ask. “I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. If I go back, I'll only cause more pain.” Your face starts crumpling, and you can already feel the humiliating tears gathering in your eyes.

They take a deep breath.

“We've been through this before,” they say in a quiet voice. “Either you stay here and turn back into Flowey, or you give one last goodbye to your parents. I know you want to go back. There's no point in lying to me.”

And they were right. You again try to say something, but they cut you off.

“And that's why I'm giving you a third option,” they say in a whisper.

“I just can’t stand by and watch this happen. You, of all people, deserve this.”

And then you saw something small and shiny in their hand, glinting in the light despite its rustiness. It was the same knife Asgore had given you for your tenth birthday. Mom didn't approve of course, but let you use it for gardening despite her misgivings. And now, it seemed that it would be used for more than flowers.

Shielding your face with both hands, you yell at them, attempting to discourage their plan.

“Please, Frisk! Not like this!”

The knife fell, and a barely audible, yet sickening sound was heard as it plunged into flesh. But no sharp, searing pain came, for you were not the intended target.

You removed your hands from your face and opened your eyes. In front of you was Frisk, with the knife hilt-deep in the left side of their chest. The two of you locked eyes, and then they twisted it deeper. Blood began pooling at their feet.

“You IDIOT!” You screamed at them. “You had a whole life ahead of you, and you're just throwing it away?”

They were silent again. They went down slowly and leaned against the wall.

Gripping the hilt, you rip the blade out of them, spattering your once-clean sweater. But you don't care about that anymore. You tear a piece off of their shirt and try to stop the bleeding, but it's too late.

They reach up and grasp your hand as the life seeps out of them.

Frisk says their final words: “You're going to be free.”

“But this isn't what I…”

Your words trail off as you see that they are no longer breathing. You watch as a red glow seeps out of their chest and coalesces into a perfect crimson heart. Why, it's their soul of course. The soul hovers in the air next to Frisk’s body, casting a morbid red light on the scene.

And you wait for the reset. You drop the knife. It lands with a clatter on the dark, hard ground. You gently pick up the child's broken, battered body, and hold it against your own. But it doesn't happen.

“Frisk…” You can't manage much more. You're too busy crying over your lost friend, soaking yourself in a mixture of blood and tears.

Finally, you let them down. Frisks’ lifeless body slides to the ground. You straighten them out and cross their arms over their chest.

“Why do you love me so much?” You question their body.

“You hardly even knew me,” you continue.

“But you gave up your life for it.”

And at that moment, you were suddenly taken by a coughing fit. You harshly cough into your sleeve, making rough hacking noises. On your arm is a light dusting of yellow powder. With horror, you realize that it's pollen.

That did it. You hug the body of your dead friend one last time, and take what they have given you. The soul, still floating lazily next to you, is absorbed easily. You've done this once before, after all.

As the soul enters your body, you feel the strength returning to your limbs. More than you had with Chara, in fact. Limitless amounts of power, even. But you don't need it.

Remaining in your child form, you let the soul take hold. Your mind feels expanded, somehow.

You think to yourself: Frisk. _“You didn't need to do that, you know.”_

And then came the reply.

 _“I did what I needed to. Your life was stolen from you, so I figured I'd donate mine,”_ they said.

It is just as you remember. Their presence--

 _“But I'm nothing like Chara!”_ They were obviously indignant.

_“This is going to get very annoying very fast if you keep interrupting my thoughts.”_ you assert.

_“Okay, sorry. I'll tone it down a bit.”_

_“Now I lost my train of thought. Good job, Frisk.”_

_“Hey, I said I was sorry!”_

And you decide it is time to start the long walk back. The thought of seeing your parents again fills you with determination.

 _“You know I’ll never forgive you for what you did, right? I wanted to go back to the Surface, but not like this,”_ you inform them.

_"I knew you’d never take my soul willingly. I just had to take matters into my own hands. Besides, I’m fine with that. As long as you can be with your family, that is."_

You rise and dust yourself off. With dismay, you see that Chara’s sweater is ruined.

_“Frisk, why couldn’t you have chosen a less messy way to die? This was all I had left to remember them by.”_

Maybe that was a bit insensitive, you think, but--

 _“Well, I didn’t exactly have many options, as I said before,”_ they explain.

You cover your face with your hands.

“What are my parents going to think? They’ll see me, but not you. You spent all this time befriending everyone in the underground only to die for me. They’re expecting you back.”

_“Just go. It’s going to be alright, okay?”_

You decide that they’re right. You’re tired of waiting.

_“We have a long journey ahead of us, Frisk.”_

_“I’ll be with you every step of the way...Forever.”_

“I shudder at the thought,” you say aloud. Before Frisk can spout out a witty retort, you walk back over to their body.

 _“Hey, what are you doing?”_ they question.

_“Just reclaiming what’s mine.”_

You put your hands against Frisk’s neck, and find what you were looking for. Your locket. You take it, and put it on your own neck with its twin. Right where it belongs, you think fondly.

_“So, done messing around yet? Don’t you want to see your family?”_

_“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it.”_

But you can’t help but hesitate. What if it’s too much for them? What if--

_“We’ve been over this. You’re going to be fine.”_

It’s time to go, then. But before you do, you remember one last thing.

  
You wipe off the knife on your shirt, tying it blade-down on your waist.

 

_“You have to stay determined, Asriel!”_

_“I’m tired, Frisk! Can’t we rest for a little while?”_

_“Come on now. You’ve got a few miles left in those legs of yours.”_

_“Ha, very inspiring words,”_ you reply.

You collapse into a heap, leaning against the side of the cavern. There are numerous purple crystals in this part of the cave, and they help light your path. Waterfall is a truly beautiful place, when you have the time to look around. But unfortunately, enjoying its beauty isn’t exactly easy with Frisk constantly nagging you.

_“Faster, Asriel! Don’t you want to see Toriel and Asgore?”_

_“Just a few minutes, I’m catching my breath…”_

And in less than a minute, you fall asleep.

When you awaken, you are immediately exposed to the voice of Frisk.

_“Hey, you tricked me! I thought you were just going to sit down or something.”_

_“You were never this talkative when you were alive, you know.”_

And finally, they stopped talking.

 _“But I’m ready to see them now, if you are, Frisk,”_ you say. _“Let’s go.”_

And that is exactly what you do. Through the bioluminescent corridors of Waterfall, the scorching landscape of Hotland, and the technological wonder that is the Core, you walk.

After what seems like the longest journey of your life, you see New Home looming in front of you. It really was like Toriel’s house. So many happy memories you had here.

But that isn’t why you’ve come. You’re here for the present, not the past. Walking into the house, you barely give your familiar surroundings more than a glance. You’re so close now, you can feel it.

Rushing down the stairs, you walk across the bridge which looks over the Underground. It is all empty now. Everyone is going to the Surface, it seems.

  
You keep going.

Frisk doesn’t have much to say anymore.

_“No, I don’t. I’m still a bit mad over that earlier remark.”_

You stifle a giggle.

And at long last, you enter Asgore’s throne room. You remember it quite well. This was where you died, after all. The flowers in front of the throne still bloom with eerie vividness, rustling gently from the draft of the open door.

“Asriel, we’re almost there. They’re in the next hallway.”

_“Frisk...It's time now, I think.”_

And it is. Breaking into a run, you enter the hallway to the left of the throne room. You can see them, your parents...And some people you have never met before.

  
“Mom, Dad!” You yell in a triumphant shout.

You ignore the mixed looks of confusion, surprise, and joy on their faces, and jump into their waiting arms. Burying your face into Asgore's chest, you are finally reunited.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a stout, grinning skeleton giving you a knowing look.

“My son? I thought…” Asgore sounded extremely confused. Toriel, however, was extremely concerned. She grabs you, examining you furiously.

“Why is there blood all over your clothes? What happened? Are you hurt? Why did you come back? HOW did you come back?”

“Mom, stop it with all the questions! I can explain everything!” You pull yourself out of your mother’s grip.

“where’s frisk, huh kiddo?” asks the grinning skeleton. “if that’s all your blood, then I’m a bit surprised you’re still alive.”

 _“Sans! How could you think that?”_ Frisk’s voice echoes in your head.

And then you realized what he was implying.

“Oh, no, I didn’t…”

“Hey, he’s right. W-Where’s F-Frisk?” you hear someone ask in a shaky voice.

With a sigh, you begin to explain your story to everyone.

You leave none of it out, even admitting to eating Toriel’s pie.

“Well, it would have gone bad anyway. Better you eat it than nobody,” she responded.

“That’s right! You have to be furious with your food! The food is the real enemy, keeping you from getting your nutrients!” The voice comes from a fish-like creature who you can’t identify.

And finally, you get to the part of the story regarding Frisk’s fate.

“I don’t know how to say this, everyone.” They all stand in front of you, regarding you with rapt attention.

“Frisk...they’re dead.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you turned around, as if trying to hide your shame. A collective frown came upon the faces of your audience. Even the ever-present smile of the skeleton (the one Frisk had called Sans) started to droop.

“I could have stopped them, I could have…” You felt a large, strong hand on your shoulder, and Asgore was there next to you.

“My son, you have suffered greatly. There is nothing to be ashamed about. Please, finish your tale.” His face softened. “I, too, will miss Frisk. They were truly one of the best humans I’ve ever met.”

 _“Ooh, such praise.”_ They sound happy.

You turn around fully and face the rest of them.

“They died for me.” Unsheathing the knife, you hold it in front of you. “They killed themselves with this knife, and I absorbed their soul.”

“I can still hear them in my head.” You gestured lamely to your skull. “And now I’m here.”

You replace the knife on your waist. The fish-creature speaks up.

“An admirable action, Frisk...I’m sure that not even I could muster the resolve. I just wish that we could have finished our cooking lessons,” she says thoughtfully.

And then, her face breaks into a wide smile. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you instead, huh?

And then you’re stuck in a headlock, being noogied furiously.

“Ow, stop it!” you plead.

“GOLLY, SANS! THAT SURE LOOKS LIKE FUN, DOESN’T IT?”

And then everyone is there with you, and you willingly accept their embrace.

After a lengthy session of reunion, you finally break away from your parents and newfound friends.

The one that looks vaguely like a bearded dragon (Alphys, Frisk says) approaches you.

“I-I..uh..er…” She appears to have trouble speaking. “Frisk and I were, uh, y-you know, going to…well, since they’re still kind of...in your head...and all...”

“You wanna watch some anime when this is all over?” she manages.

You give Alphys an amused look.

“What’s anime?”

Alphys seems amazed.

  
“Oh my god, Undyne!” she yells. “Help me explain anime to Asriel!”

You turn around, and stare down the passage to the Surface.

You look back again, seeing everyone lingering there behind you.

“What are you guys waiting for? We’re going to be free.”

 _"I think you're going to like this,"_ says Frisk.

 

Standing in front of the now-broken barrier, Asriel Dreemurr takes his last steps out of the Underground and into his new future.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
